


Awakening

by MarlasSett



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chiss (Star Wars), Chiss Ascendancy (Star Wars), F/F, F/M, Gen, Human Trafficking, Jedi Politics (Star Wars), M/M, Maybe slow to update, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics, Republic Politics, SI going to fuck shit up, Sector Rangers, Self-Insert, Slavery, Slaves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:54:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23792674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarlasSett/pseuds/MarlasSett
Summary: He was neither Pantoran nor Wroonian.He was Chiss. That was a truth unshakable and he felt a surging pride that wasn't his.Knowledge was power indeed and this was a strange, strange place.He was going to need all the power he could get.
Comments: 19
Kudos: 32
Collections: A Collection of Beloved Inserts





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey ya'll!. It's not often I geek out enough over a fandom to write a fic but when I do, I do. This is a Self Insert from our world into the Star Wars universe.
> 
> Star Wars is not, has never been, and never will be mine. But one can dream.

He woke with a gasp, arching in the air with wide eyes. There was searing fire in the back of his skull; it led down to his neck and shot off into the length of his spine. The muscles in his face tightened, and the veins at his temple bulged. He felt his chest constrict and the heat rise under his skin. When his vision blurred, he finally collapsed on his back, heaving raggedly.

After some time recovering, of which he’s sure he blacked out a few times, his eyes flit around in search of clarity. He was lying supine, his body molding into the material beneath. The only light source framed the window shadings that spanned the height of the wall opposite of him; He could see a table and chair at the foot of the bed; a glass cabinet pushed against the adjacent wall; and the outline of a metallic door less than a meter right of it. A room, plain and spartan with muted colors. The way he liked it.

Except, he'd never go for white anything unless it was bandages nor would he have ceilings that were nearly 5 meters high. It was too big, too clinical, and the lack of shadows made him feel vulnerable. There was no place for him to hide in this stranger's room. That he was also bereft of any clothing didn't help his nerves and his memory was shot. He remembered going to the bar, not getting as sloshed as he liked, and then home to stumble into his bed, alone. He was certain of those facts if somewhat confused on their order. If he was drugged and kidnapped, it was either pathetically done because he was neither shackled or disoriented from drugs; or expertly done in which case his kidnappers fore went the restraints because they didn't expect him to run.

At that thought, his brows furrowed. If they didn't expect him to run, that meant they had some leverage. Uneasily, he shifted onto his feet and promptly did a double take. His eyes shot down the length of his body.

Breathless, he exclaimed, "What?!"

He was blue. A glacial pale blue that ran from the tip of his nose to the end of his toenails. Even his cock was blue, he realized with a strangled cry. Then he examined under his arms, over his shoulder, and his nether regions. He was blue all around and thoroughly. Grimacing, he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyelids until they ached.

Squashing down his heightened emotions, he took a deep breath. Being shanghaied by kidnappers who left him unshackled and painted him blue? It wasn't the worst thing to happen to him by far. Panic would only make him drop his guard. He needed to catalog his location, assess the threat, and establish a plan to neutralize them, whomever They are.

With the bed sheet wrapped around his waist, he stalked to the window shadings and nudged them to the side. For a long moment he just stared, struck; then another minute went by and then another. Finally, an eternity later when he's sure his eyes haven't deceived him, he no longer denies the sight before him. The facts were like this:  
He knows he’s not dreaming. He never remembers his dreams; only vague impressions and they've never been this physical. Not solid like the glass under his palm, or clear like the spots of light dancing in his eyes, or keen like the heat of the sun on his skin.

He wasn’t drugged either. He feels clear headed and steadier than he has in years. Like he was born anew; 6ft 5 inches tall and 237 pounds of compact flesh. There was a shade of rippling energy under his muscles waiting to be released. The tightness of old scars was gone, as was the phantom pain in his left knee. Still, something had to be inducing this kind of hallucination.

A large vessel flies past and his eyes lock onto its strange shape. He tracks it as far as he could see until another one lands in his sights.

This was way more than dreams, drug induced hallucinations, or insanity combined. His kidnapper, if he was even kidnapped, must be outrageously and criminally wealthy. They must also be absurdly ambitious or plain crazy to build an entire futuristic looking city as part of an elaborate conspiracy. That or this was some secret off the grid mega-metropolis hidden from the world by the government, like Wakanda.

"Shit." That summed up his world perfectly. He felt the thread of a cold ugly thing in the pit of his belly. Quickly, he tracked his eyes over the room once more, picking up details he had skimmed over. From his vantage point, there was another door in the far-left side of the bed, closer to the other entrance. He made his way to it and it opened for him automatically. The lights flickered on, revealing the interior to be a bathroom. It was nearly as large the bedroom, clean, sparsely furnished, and seemed to carry the standard utilities. He spotted a full body-sized mirror and crept closer, slack jawed.

He wasn't just blue. His whole eyes were ruby red, completely obscuring the whites that he’s sure should be there. There was an unnaturally faint glow to them, and he had no pupils to speak of. He pulled down the skin under his left eye and peered closer. He couldn't even see the rim of a contact lens.

Just what the hell is this?! He thought.

A persistent beeping punctured the silence, startling him. Rushing back into the bedroom he found it originating from a flat circular disk no bigger than his palm. It laid innocuous on the table. Black, smooth, and made of a metal he couldn't name. The beeping continued in conjunction with a string of little vertical dashes that emitted blue light every time it chirped. Seconds later, the object fell silent before soft voice broke through:

"Uh, Good morning Sector Ranger Kirin, sir. This is Junior Ranger Orn Taa with a mission directive. You're ordered to report for duty at 0800 hours tomorrow for your debriefing.” More hesitantly, the voice continues. “You’re superior wanted to let you know your thin ice, sir, for not comm-ing in your days of absence…until then sir."

Silence reigned once more. Kirin; was that his kidnapper’s name? Or...was that this body’s name? Was he really trapped in this alien body...living in a foreign city too advanced to be part of the world he knew?! Was he in the future?!

There was no stopping the ocean of dread enveloping him now. Not even his years as a senior ranking special forces officer was going to stop it. All his instincts screamed at him to fall back into his training, but he folded into the ground and landed on his backside. Clutching his head, he chanted.

“No fucking way, no fucking way, no fucking way! This is a dream! I’m actually fucking dreaming this time!” Beeping from the disk erupted once more. He chucked it across the room, screaming, “Fuck!”

The outburst of violence broke him out of his hysteria. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and sunk into a meditative state. His anger drained away, his muscles relaxed, and his mind focused on one thing. Calm. In, out, in, out, in, out. Until he could only hear the faint thumps of his heart and the distant noise of the world outside. Once calm, he abandoned the sheet covering his modesty and moved across the room with a new determination. He began sweeping the room, turning over every inch. He looked for wires, hidden cameras, hidden mics, any and everything. In his perusal he found a rectangular flat device slightly larger than his hand. It looked like a tricked out mini iPad with added props. In his hands, it was light and cool to the touch.

Grazing his fingers along the surface, a plane of light jetted out in front of his face. Fumbling with it momentarily, he held it an arm’s length away with the screen facing the ceiling. There was a plethora of text, videos, and 3d objects floating in the holographic display. They hovered above the device, circulating in a slow counterclockwise fashion. He poked his finger through one such hologram and it moved out of formation to enlarge in front of him. It was the moving image of an alien; a brown fleshed, high dome-headed alien with eyes the size of golf balls stuck to the sides of its head. Its fingers were webbed, crossed, and it stared back at him. A line of text passed underneath the creature.

"...in other news, Senator Tolgro of Benkal suffered a case of hypoxia when the oxygen levels…”

He watched perturbed as its lips warbled out the words in English. Huh.

Just when it would start to sink that he was no longer part of his own world, something would make him doubt it. Stashing his find, he continued to work through the room, making more discoveries. The walk-in closet pulled a sigh of relief from him. He quickly disregarded the black and grey uniforms lining the rack and pulled on the necessities in the darkest colors he found. It was a paltry sum; but one can’t have everything. Once done, he finished with a dark jacket and black boots. They fit perfectly.  
His greatest bounty were the metal weapons he pulled out from behind the uniforms. One was gun-shaped and seemed impossibly thin for a proper case of bullets. It was half the length of his arm and colored in black and chrome. Maybe a stun gun. Another was a baton the length of his arms and lined with metal ridges. They came along with two bound cards. One was metallic with a chip and the other had his present image and details.

He absorbed the information. He was Kirin. Kirin, a Sector Ranger with the Corps of Rangers. Whatever that meant.

Storing the bounties on his person, he decided to venture into the next room. The bedroom door automatically slid open for him, disappearing into a crevice. The hall was dimly lit, and he inched his way towards the light, taking measured steps until he entered a much larger room. He made quick work scoping it out and when he was done, he allowed his guard to relax. Just a little because one can never be sure.

He got a better view of the incredible sight of the city from glass panels taking the height and length of a wall. Towering monoliths pierced the skyline like collective renditions of the Burj Khalifa; each with its own distinguished design. They dotted beyond the horizon. The sky was a chaotic symphony of vessels, both large and small, traveling at neck-breaking speeds seemingly intent on their own destruction. He could make out the tracks that marked their routes and they seemed to follow a pattern. In the distance he could see a massive domed structure that appeared to be the center point of the region. Equally impressive, was the complex north of it; Temple-like with five spires atop. This, he thought in awe, was a technophile’s wet dream.

It took effort to peel his eyes away from the sight and even then, he kept glancing back.

Finally, he pulled out the mini iPad he stashed away and grazed its surface. Just as before, an abundance of texts and objects littered the air above it. He began to manipulate them; one after the other, enlarging what he could see, and feasting on information about impossible things. City planets, hyperspace, Galactic senate, the latest cleaning droids, an explorer spaceship, and millions upon millions of 'sentient' species. Blue, red, four sets of eyes, winged, covered in fur, horns protruding out skulls, creatures with webbed hands, or razors for teeth. All sentient, and they could speak English. Information after information enraptured his attention. His hand moved intuitively as though it had a mind of its own. Muscle memory, he thought and wondered if he inherited the previous host’s memories. He paused. Nope, nothing.

At some point he activated an input tool and was prompted to enter some text. And there he ran into his first dilemma; the symbols looked like hieroglyphics. He was dismayed until an idea came to him.  
With a few false starts, he rolled eyes at his hesitation. Finally, he spoke.

"English space alphabet." No change.

“Alien English.” Nothing. Now he was starting to feel like an idiot.

"Languages and their alphabets." The rotating sphere of data scrambled and was replaced by scores of texts and images with more still appearing. There must be billions of them.

He tried again. "The most spoken language and its alphabet."

Only a chunk of files remained now, but it was still an overwhelming number. He tapped on a file at random.

It read: 'Galactic Basic and Aurebesh: Language for Tots.'

Can’t get much simpler than that, he decided.

* * *

  
Hours later, after Kirin had gathered the nerve to venture out of the apartment; double checked that he had his gun; and ensured that he could get back in, he began his foray into the world outside.

It was a testament to the years he spent in both the armed and special forces that he was able to keep his expression inscrutable in the face of reality. To the Coruscanti going about their business in the plaza, he appeared unfettered and confident in his stride. He wagered, he probably cut an imposing figure, dwarfing those he came across; his red eyes were disconcerting to say the least. Many overlooked him, but curious glances were still thrown his way now and again. Ignoring them, he continued to circle the square, observing.

The baseline humans around him made up the majority, but he could identify other sentients by species now. Zabrak, Twi’lek, Miraluka, Mon Calamari, Bothan, Togruta, Arkanian; and many others he tried to catalog from the info—data pad. Too many. Too many species, too many languages, too many planets, too many star systems. The whirlwind of information had made his head spin, so he had contented himself with a rundown of the essentials.

Aurebesh, the galactic writing system for galactic Basic, he memorized in under 47 seconds. Then, he learnt it backwards. The next 10 minutes were spent enunciating each letter by listening to a human recording, which color him surprised, coincidentally matched English consonants and vowels. That little tidbit opened the world—galaxy—for him. He took to transcribing Aurebesh to English and back; and then, it was smooth sailing deciphering texts. Now, he could read.

Reading led him to researching how to handle the gun, or blaster tucked in his pants. Then to look up “Sector Rangers”, learning about the Corps of Rangers, Coruscant, and the galaxy. He was also able to somewhat determine his place in it.

He was either a Pantoran or Wroonian. Both species were near human and blue-skinned from the texts and images he looked over. But he didn’t think he was either of them. Nothing he read or saw showed that they shared his eyes. But he was looking at a small sample and he hadn’t met anyone yet so he couldn’t assume. None-the-less, there was a surging denial that he was either species. A deep undeniable truth that he was something else. It made him feel a pride that wasn’t his own.

Deciding to move forward, he determined it was time he left. The scrap of knowledge he obtained and his proficiency in Aurebesh would have to do. He needed more information yesterday and holing up in the apartment with a data pad wasn’t going to cut it. He had to see for himself. 

Since he couldn’t fly one of the vessels, nor was he willing to risk his neck, he decided on a public transport. It proved to be interesting and mildly troublesome after some back and forth with a droid that kept harping at him about a credit chip. Deciding to chance it, he finally presented it with the metallic card bound to his ID. A quick scan later and he was on his way. A transport took him to the Senate district, where presently, he made his way to the one place he had a connection.

50 meters ahead of him stood the Judicial Department’s headquarters; the primary law enforcing power of the Galactic Republic. He noted its grey and white exterior; it wasn’t the most remarkable and tallest landmark in the Senate district by far. Built not far from a collective of speeder lands, it neighbored the Offices of General Affairs and Public Works. Various patrol speeders, their riders, and security droids milled about in the front of the building. What was meant to be the promising hand of authority, was overshadowed by the Senate building. But it was here that the Judicial Department oversaw multiple agencies, one of which is the Republic Office of Criminal Investigations or ROCI. ROCI oversaw the Corps of Rangers, his agency.

And somehow, he needed to access it.

A cool breeze fluttered against his skin and he glanced in the sun’s direction. It hung low between a burst of red and orange. There were a handful of hours left until sunset. With a last considerable glance at the Judicial building, he turned and left.

* * *

After filling himself with greasy, rubbery sustenance of dubious origins from a food stall, he decided to take a risk. He was back in his apartment standing in front of the comm-link. The waning sunset reflected off its surface.

The idea came to him when he considered obtaining information from another sentient. Back at the district, he hadn’t been willing to approach the Judicial building with the multitude of bodies hanging out on the steps. Though he was confident that he could speak Basic, it wasn't a task he looked forward to. It’s one thing to make mistakes talking to a droid; it was another with a policing sentient. He could bullshit, but going in blind? That’s a no-no. He couldn’t afford to garner any bad will with the police.  
As Junior Ranger Orn Taa said, he’s on thin ice.

So far, she or he was his only point of contact with the Corps of Rangers and they were his best bet. He had the contact; he had the access if his ID-chip was any indication; and maybe he had a set of resources he could tap into. He assumed a Sector Ranger would be prepared for anything.

At this point he could only work with assumptions and trust in his ability to take care of the rest. He would treat it like a mission. An improbable, uncertain mission without a set of parameters and with an indefinite length of time. He’s had plenty of those before.

So, steeling his nerves, he stood in front of the comm-link with a facade of confidence. He manipulated it until he found what he wanted. Then, he clicked Orn Taa’s image.

The comm-link chimed and a hologram sprung forth. He exhaled.


	2. Chapter 2

_Previously:_

_At this point he could only work with assumptions and trust in his ability to take care of the rest. He would treat it like a mission. An improbable, uncertain mission without a set of parameters and with an indefinite length of time. He’s had plenty of those before._

_So, steeling his nerves, he stood in front of the commlink with a facade of confidence. He manipulated it until he found what he wanted. Then, he clicked Orn Taa’s image._

_The commlink chimed and a hologram sprung forth. He exhaled._

* * *

As a senior Sector Ranger, Kirin’s office was more spacious and refined than the junior rangers. It was also pragmatic and impersonal with a touch cleanliness and simplicity. A half-moon desk was positioned in the center of the room along with a padded chair. It was there he sat slouching, lips twisting into a sneer at the target of his next mission.

In two days, he’d have to make his way to the Outer Rim to the planet Kessel. A spice mining planet, where his ‘team’ would attempt to capture a wanted slave trader.

Slave trader. Slavery. He inwardly balked at the very idea. He hadn't been expecting space utopia but was too much to hope that slavery remained an exclusively ‘human’ trade? It was a lucrative business running rampant in this galaxy, from one ass cheek to the other. Outlawed by the Galactic Republic and hovering a hair's width outside their jurisdiction. No slavery preceding the Mid Rim.

He snorted. He would eat his blaster if one of those esteemed senators wasn't sampling Twi'leks in between votes.

Not only would Kirin have to contend with that and space travel for the first time, but he’ll be going in with three others he neither knew nor trusted. The only marginal upside to this mission was that Orn Taa would be joining him. She was a young female humanoid with pinkish skin, white hair, and long pointed ears. He wasn’t sure of her species yet, but she was near human.

She appeared almost skittish to him, constantly calling him sir and unable to hold his gaze for longer than a few seconds. But she had still stood back straight, and her voice never wavered when she had spoken to him.

_Orn Taa was surprised. There was the slight widening of her eyes and her lips beginning to form the shape of an o. It lasted a split-second before she schooled her expression._

_“Good evening sir.” She greeted him warily. There goes that idea of them being ‘close’. When he’d still been an agent, he made it a habit to establish a level of friendly camaraderie with other agents—they put their lives in each other’s' hands after all._

_He subtly released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He needed to tread carefully here._

_“Junior Officer Orn Taa…good evening. I realize this must be unusual for me to call at this time, however you’re the only person I believe can assist me now.”_

_He paused after that, allowing her to come to a decision._

_With a single nod, she replied, “How can I help sir?”_

_“As you know I’ve been out of contact these last few days. Regretfully, I seemed to have suffered some bouts of unconsciousness and I’m afraid I’m not feeling up to my usual standards. My memory has been... somewhat hazy and I’m unsure of the particulars that caused it.”_

_He could see consternation and shock warring on her face. “Are you saying you can’t remember things sir…that you have amnesia?”_

_He made a show of considering what she suggested and slightly grimaced. Hesitantly he replied, “I believe that might be the case here. I still remember ingrained things like my age, my rank, my training, how to shoot a blaster. But some things remain unclear to me. For example, I can’t recall what may have caused this.”_

_He gestured with his hands._

_Her brows pinched and her shoulders slumped as she stared at him, clearly disturbed. Her jaw flexed as she considered what he told her._

_“Well sir. I can’t say I’m not surprised even though I shouldn’t be. You did take a hit in our last mission and you were unconscious for a few minutes at least. Once you regained consciousness you managed to bounce back as if nothing happened.”_

_She shifted her feet. “Medical even cleared you.”_

_Ahh, and there it was. He could roll with this. This was a plausible explanation he could latch onto to explain his perceived amnesia. He could make it out to seem that he’s lost some memories to explain any lapses in his knowledge of the world he was currently in. His mind worked furiously as he grew more confident in the route he was taking._

_“I can’t think of anything else, so that might be the root cause. In any case, I’ll be needing your help to explain some things to me.”_

_She stood straighter at his words. Inwardly, he sighed in relief._

Disturbed though she was at his questions, she had answered them succinctly and without hesitation. There wasn’t too much that he didn’t already know or conclude but hearing someone else verify them put him at ease. He was a senior ranking Sector Ranger. His team had been demobilized in Coruscant for a brief reprieve after their last mission. Orn Taa was his second in command; rangers Tapri and Jonz were two other members assigned to their task force. She gave him a rundown of the last mission.

An extraction for a political leader on a Mid Rim planet that went south when negotiations fell through and the opposition had said leader captured. The local militia had started firing on them and he took a blaster to his chest, thankfully armored, and flew out a window. His fall was cushioned by the tender embrace of a speeder down below. The blow had been enough to knock him out, but he escaped mostly unscathed, at the time. After he grilled her some more, he thanked her and ended the call.

The following morning after their conversation, he had her connect him to his superior—the look on her face told him everything she thought about that—and he relayed the same issue to Pedhen Sket. Sket, a thin-lipped hardliner with the glittering eyes of a hawk, made him go in for a mental and physical exam with a Med Droid. The results revealed him to be healthy and perfectly fit for a Pantoran—he still rebelled against that designation.

Since his condition couldn’t be verified other than what he told them he could and couldn’t remember, his whole team was put on an extended reprieve for another four days. On file, there was nothing barring him from field work—but Sket allowed him the time to “reaffirm” some things. He thought there may be some favoritism there, and hoped he wasn't wrong. That may work to his benefit in the future.

The time he spent “reaffirming" was basically him beating everything he thinks he needs to know into his head until he gave himself a migraine. Some hours he would spend looking up prominent worlds, identifying other species, and learning how various things worked. Other times he explored Coruscant districts on foot, always mapping the general area in his head so he could find his way back. He dared to venture into shops and restaurants, museums and parks.

And now here he was inside the Judicial Building. 72 hours have passed since he’d woken up to find his world upended. The second night after meeting with Sket, he crawled into his bed calm and serene, slightly exhausted from his trials. The next day when he woke to the same high ceilings and plain white walls, he screamed himself hoarse and let bitter tears cloud his vision.

That day he laid in bed for hours, ruminating on the depressing facts that were now his life. He could never go home. He’ll never again see his parents, his sisters, his friends, and his dog. For all he knew, he was on the other side of the Milky Way and there were hundreds of thousands of planets. By the time he found _Earth—if_ he found Earth—in the cluster of worlds, he could be an aged and decrepit old man. That’s assuming he lived that long. What would he do if Earth was on a separate plane of existence or time?

There were humans here, but they seemed to originate from all directions and were nothing like what he knew. He couldn’t even call himself human anymore. To Earthlings, he would be a freak of nature, alien. On the minuscule chance he found a way home, what will he tell them?

_Yo, I come in peace. Let me prove my humanity and how I woke up like this?_

All reason would be eclipsed by their emotions; they would feel threatened. The universe as they knew it remained largely unexplored and will for millenniums before they developed things like Hyperspace travel to cross its vast distances. For them, no speck of life existed beyond Earth.

A spaceship of unknown origins falling out of the sky, flown by a talking blue alien? Someone would remember the area 51 scene in Independence Day and it would all go to shit.

All it would take is one person to issue a threat and for him to respond in kind. Then they'd accuse him of subjugation before altruism. That was the nature of fear, humans, and the things they didn’t understand.

Heaving a sigh, Kirin pulled up his team members’ files once more.

Orn Taa. Near human.

Tapri. Female zabrak.

Jonz Hootar. Male human.

All Sector Rangers junior to him. They’ve only been assigned to him for two months. Long enough to know him but not to know _him_. That was fine with him. There’d be no need to wear a mask around them to cover a personality change or ease them into one. He could still start fresh.

Their last mission was also one of their firsts and left much to be desired. They got to watch their captain get blown out of a window and get knocked out like a pansy. He figures their confidence in him must be shaken, so that was something he needed to fix. It was a two-week travel to Kessel, and he would use that time to build some rapport.

Nodding to himself, he prayed for good fortune.


	3. Chapter 3

Presently, Kirin was pressed against a viewport in a Republic patrol boat. Rustic and somewhat beaten, their transport was disguised as a smuggler’s ship. The hum of the vessel persisted in the lulling quiet and occasionally, the binary of droids pierced it. Kirin had an unencumbered view of the monster’s stomach. And what a stomach it was! Black and gargantuan, alit with burning orbs and flairs of colors. They were traversing the known void, gliding along the stretch of an invisible web that kept them from an infinite fall. It was like being suspended over a pit. Except the pit was also above you and next to you, all around you. You knew it spelled your doom yet found it beautiful; and fear and elation warred in your heart.

The darkness of space was pressing. Its vastness was incomprehensible. He was humbled by his diminutive existence in it. He wondered if this might be the last thing he'll see.

Kirin has long accepted that danger always reared its head. In the past, he battled for breath; faced the barrel of a gun; or was hunted by men and animals. Even now, he was anticipating walking into a firefight. In all those times, fear and adrenaline surged with the rush of blood in his veins and his heart chased a deafening crescendo. But that fear wasn’t present now. Instead, he gawked into the abyss, a chill settling deep into his bone marrow.

They were in the belly of the monster. They’ve been devoured for eons. Born, living, dying; all in moments too scant to leave an imprint. Most unworthy but they tried. Oh, how they tried. Always reaching, chasing, grasping. For what? God—?

_“Sir!”._

He blinked. Turning, he found the wary brown eyes of Jonz Hootar peering at him. He was reminded of Cortez.

“Sorry, you were saying?”

“We’ll be entering hyperspace soon,” said Jonz. “Tapri said to let you know. Are you…feeling alright sir?”

He nodded. “I’m fine. Just got caught in the moment I guess.”

“I hear you sir.”

Jonz nodded like he understood, flashing him with a hesitant dimpled smile. Without delay they made their way down to the cockpit and strapped themselves in. Going into Hyperspace was anticlimactic. None of the heart-stopping frantic escape through a field of asteroids he was imagining. Instead the forward motion of the ship pressed him back into his seat and the stars smeared until they became singular lines of light. He felt himself relax and for the first time, the silence was companionable. A far cry from a few days ago.

In the following days before they left Coruscant, Kirin met with Orn Taa and the others several times. They’re meetings had went like this:

_“Hello sir.” They would say._

_“Hello, enjoying your time off?” He would inquire politely._

_“Yes sir. And you sir?” They would return._

_“As well as can be,” He would say._

_They nod._

_He nods._

_Silence._

The brief stilted conversations gave him more insight into the team’s dynamic than any report ever could. If he thought Orn Taa was skittish, Jonz was like a newborn foal, and Tapri kept a distance that was borderline disrespectful. All three stood to attention the moment he was in their vicinity and always fell silent. His other self must have been a grade A asshole, he thought with dismay.

Deciding to do something about it, he invited them out for drinks and was summarily amused at the horror on their faces. Nonetheless, they acquiesced, and soon he had them taking shots and playing twenty questions. They enjoyed beer pong the most. By the time the day came when they needed to leave Coruscant, the group was somewhat at ease if bewildered at the dramatic change in his behavior. He was pleased.

He learned that Orn Taa was a sephi, lived in Coruscant all her life and was originally part of the Coruscant Security Force. Tapri was from Iridonia, a trained pilot, and an orphan. She ranted a little about the overflowing and undermanned foster care system. Jonz was the youngest of them at 23 and joined the Sector Rangers after his brother. He also couldn’t hold his liquor. Under the influence he boldly told them how he nearly shitted himself the first time he saw Kirin’s glowing red eyes; and that it wasn’t fair that he was so criminally attractive.

The bonding lifted his spirits somewhat and made him hopeful. Still, he didn’t let that distract him from the current problem. He pursed his lips in thought and tilted his head to rest against the seat.

Bhad Chix, the slave trader they were pursuing, wasn’t a goon by any means. High enough in the hierarchy of criminals to afford his own protection and quite possibly, to be missed. Assuming he was still in Kessel by the time they got there, the Nikto would be surrounded by friends. Even his enemies wouldn’t mind blasting any cops that came sniffing, if only to protect their own interests. For a team with three junior rangers and an amnesiac senior ranger, a team that has only known each other for three months and been on all but four missions together… They would be fucked. He had insisted that point to Sket but she waved his concerns away.

She was entirely too confident that they could handle it. It was suspicious and he told the others so. Some of them shared the same concerns.

“It's because of how the last mission turned out,” said Orn Taa. They changed locations to a conference room while the ship cruised on autopilot. “They only called us in to protect Minister Moijuli from assassination attempts during negotiations. But the minister showed up with his family and we weren’t told. Then the local militia turned up on top of the bounty hunters we were expecting. It was a mess.”

“That is suspicious,” said Kirin. “And something SEO Sket should’ve let us know.”

Tapri, narrow-eyed, threw in her two cents. “The militia might have been aiming for the minister, but the bounty hunters shot at you first. They were amateurs but one of them got a lucky shot while you were grappling with their comrade.”

“Do we have them in custody?”

“They’re dead,” said Orn Taa.

“How?”

“Poison. Forensics said it was already in their system days before they attacked us. You received the examination from them.”

“And where was Sket?”

“With Forens—.”

A beat later, it dawned on her and her eyes widened. He took in the floored expressions on her and Tapri’s faces.

Jonz’s face contorted, still disbelieving. “You really think SEO Sket is trying to…to…"

“Get us killed? Maybe.” He said.

At Jonz’s sharp inhale, he amended. “Or maybe not.”

There was no obvious reason for Sket to target the others. They’ve only been rangers for less than a year. Very competent and disciplined; he’s seen them in training simulations at least once. Nothing stands out in their backgrounds, except maybe Jonz’s in relation to his brother.

But Kirin was a different matter. Flew right through Sector Ranger training in less than two years, when others took four on average. Extremely competent and admired for his cold logic, discipline and fighting capabilities. An intimidating force people feared or respected. He's made a record number of arrests for a ranger so early in his career and there was gossip he'd be made an SEO soon. Those were snippets of talks he picked up and observations he made while back at the Corps. Was Sket jealous? No, he didn’t think it was anything that petty.

Tapri, her forehead creased, asked. “So, what should we do?”

“I say fuck it and cut our losses.”

“What?!” They exclaimed in shock.

“I’m kidding,” he sighed. But seriously, they really should just run. “It’s too late to turn back. Sket would ask uncomfortable questions and I can’t accuse her without hard evidence. The only thing we can do is prepare to survive this mission.”

“Are we still going after Chix?” asked Jonz.

“We can make the attempt, but the chances of succeeding are minimal. Not unless we recruit more help. Say we reach Kessel, what kind of support can we expect from local law enforcement?”

“They’d be stretched too thin to be much help,” Orn Taa answered.

Jonz snorted.

“That’s putting it mildly. Most of them are corrupt,” he said. “How can they not be? King Yaruba likes to pretend that slave mining isn’t thriving on his planet, but it's an open secret that he uses slaves too.”

Kirin’s glowing eyes narrowed, and he prompted. “What kind of slaves?”

Shrugging, Jonz said, “Pretty ones probably. Twi’leks, togruta, humans…why do ask sir?”

Hesitantly, he offered. “I have an idea…but we’re going to need slaves.”

He received two sets of raised eyebrows and Tapri’s incredulous face. With that, they worked for the next hour on a game plan. After solidifying everyone’s roles, they dispersed. As Kirin made his way to his quarters, a feeling of unease caused him to trail to a stop. Suddenly, the screech of metal rang through his ears and the world tilted sideways. Pain flared in his right shoulder.

Distantly, he heard Jonz shout.

“What kark was that?!”

A cacophony of alarms blared, and the lights flickered as he climbed to his feet.

The metal shook under him and he stumbled his way to the cockpit. At Tapri’s cursing he shouted.

“Tapri! What was that?!”

She fiddled with the controls as the ship jerked side to side and sparks rained over her hands. “Kriff! Something hit us…something big!”

Well shit.

“What is it?”

Just then a gravelly, arrogant, male voice broke through the transceiver.

_“You guys are like sitting ducks! Hah, I like that! Here I was expecting a better fight from cops, but I guess you’re not as skilled as they say you are. Since I’m generous I’ll give you fair warning. None of you better do anything stupid, or I’ll put a hole in your ship. You might be worth a lot of credits undamaged, but don’t think we won’t play with you if you get my drift."_

Snickers broke out in the background.

“ _Surrender, you have ten minutes, or we’ll board.”_

The man shut off with a click.

Space pirates. Because they were a thing. On second thought it wasn’t too late to head back to Coruscant.

Kirin shut his eyes.

Opened them.

Glanced at the others. They waited.

“Tapri, ship status,” he finally commanded. A few frantic clicks later, she cursed.

“Kriff! Something overriding our systems. Must've used an ion cannon. How did I not see them coming?!"

That wasn't good.

“Fuck....Tapri, Jonz see what you can fix up and board up the entrances. You’ll have to manually fire the guns. Prep us for a chase or a dogfight. I’ll see about neutralizing the magnet. Orn with me.” He races out the room, Orn Taa a step behind. They hurriedly make their way to the armory, reaching for the handheld weapons.

“Do we have anything that can neutralize a magnetic clamp?” he asks, pilfering around. Orn Taa reaches for a set of cylindrical pods and a launcher.

“We have EMP grenades.”

“Good. How much time will they give us?”

“We have four. So about five minutes each. Less time the bigger the ship. ”

“That’s better than nothing. We only need to take down the magnet. Best way is through the airlock.” A threadbare plan was taking shape in his head.

"You’ll be a target if you move out of the airlock."

“Not right away. Why offer us surrender when they could have just blasted us while we were unaware."

"They're pirates. They’re looking to make a profit off of slaves."

"Exactly. Are we more profitable dead or alive?"

He grabbed the launcher from her. Reluctant as he was to do this next part, he wouldn’t ask Orn Taa. They made their way to the airlock chamber and pulled on a spacesuit. After securing a helmet on his person with Orn Taa’s help, he turned to her.

“On my signal, tell Tapri to step on it and get us into hyperspace.”

“Sir! Hyperspace is dangerous without being properly stra—”

“I know! But we have less than five minutes left. As soon as I launch these, I’ll close the hatch and secure myself!”

Without another word, he shut the inner door behind him.

He flexed his fingers.

Then he reached above to turn the latch. A pop and the circular door opened.

That was a mistake.

Diving to one side, a bolt hit the metal where his feet were.

It was followed by a barrage of fire. He hastily plastered himself against the wall, scrambling along the edge as the angle of the hail changed.

Of all the times to forget a blaster!

Eventually, the fire died out.

Clank.

Clank.

Clank.

Kirin braced himself.

The nozzle of a blaster poked through the hatch.

Snarling, he propelled himself forward with as much force as he could.

With a hand wrapped around the barrel, he pulled with all his might. As he hoped, his opponent wasn’t all that bright. Instead of planting his feet to stop the momentum, he lost his balance and followed Kirin. They tumbled into a heap on the ground.

A wide and sluggish punch came his way, and he parried, hysterical laughter bubbling in his throat. In vacuum, their movements were slowed down to absurd levels so they scuffled like they were moving through deep water.

In the close quarters, he grappled with the creature. An ugly face with brown spongy features. It grinned viciously, baring its razors and forcing him backwards.

His helmet cracked against the wall. Once. Twice.

Furious, he lashed out; twisting the gloved fingers at his throat and pulling cries from the other alien.

Maneuvering to contort its arm unnaturally, he aimed a kick at its back. Then dove for his launcher just as the alien scrambled for its blaster.

It moved fast.

But he was faster.

_Crack!_

The bang ruptured between them and Kirin’s back hit the wall.

He panted, frantically clutching the glass around his head. There was choking, but he found no fissures in his helmet. Strangulating gasps not his own echoed in the chamber and his head snapped toward the alien.  
Half its helmet was gone.

The force of the EMP blast had shattered through and buried itself in its face. Blue blood seeped into the neck of the alien’s vac-suit. Its features, ashen gray and crystalizing, convulsed with shock.

Then, it slumped.

Clank.

Clank.

Clank.

Launcher still in his hands, Kirin resurged once more and aimed through the hole.

In quick succession, two EMP pods hit the bottom of the hull of the enemy’s vessel. The last, guided by some providential force, crippled a cylinder that was bolted onto the side of their ship. It exploded and sent fragments scattering.

Clank.

He slammed the exit closed just in time to avoid a blastershot. As soon as the oxygen levels went up, Orn Taa threw the inner door open. She wavered at his side, but he waved her away.

“Go! Tell Tapri to step on it!”

And she was off. After disassembling out of the spacesuit, he followed. He collapsed just in time for Jonz to hoot and Tapri to accelerate.

The sounds of missiles firing were left in their wake.

As Kirin watched the stars blur by in hyperspace, he thought of how the smugglers knew they were cops.


	4. Chapter 4

_Previous:_

_He slammed the exit closed just in time to avoid a blastershot. As soon as the oxygen levels went up, Orn Taa threw the inner door open. She wavered at his side, but he waved her away._

_“Go! Tell Tapri to step on it!”_

_And she was off. After disassembling out of the spacesuit, he followed. He collapsed just in time for Jonz to hoot and Tapri to accelerate._

_The sounds of missiles firing were left in their wake._

_As Kirin watched the stars blur by in hyperspace, he thought of how the smugglers knew they were cops._

* * *

The cut on Orn Taa’s shoulder itched under the bacta patch. She shifted her arm and stomped down the urge to fidget. It was a nervous habit she tamed in cadet training, but it appeared to be making a comeback. Considering the shitstorm, they found themselves, it wasn’t the worst way to relapse. If her hope for this mission had been low, it tanked as soon as the slavers showed up.

She sighed in tiredness. Being on the same unit as _The Enforcer_ was both the peril and adventure she expected. It exhausted and filled her with pride. 

She still remembered dawdling in the cadet halls of the Corps training center with other recruits, eager to catch a glimpse of him. Rumors of a luminescent super humanoid with blue skin; a ‘hybrid’ Pantoran; eyes so red and bright they might as well be lasers. SSR Kirin was the cadet’s legend. He was unfairly strong, fast, and disciplined. She had almost been expecting a Jedi. He was one of the best sector rangers to ever come out of the program. The handsomest of his species that she’d seen, despite his severe countenance and the unnerving complement that were his eyes. She hasn’t felt regret since joining his unit.

Though, he’s not quite so severe anymore, she reflected.

The comm she’d gotten from him on Coruscant was the last thing she’d been expecting. She thought he was finally going to reprimand them for their partial failure on the last mission, but instead he informed her about his affliction. It befuddled her. Amnesia of all things? He was so…powerful, so _untouchable_! Yet, he revealed that weakness to her and her worry grew when he seemed to change in nature. Thankfully, he remained mostly the same. But occasionally, he _smiled_ at them. He was more approachable, enough to go drinking with them. Jonz had ridiculously named him _The Drunken Enforcer_.

Bemusedly, she shook her head. SSR Kirin might be more affable to them now but he was still his frosty blue self. It was a welcome change to their dynamic.

Speaking of him, she stood straighter as he exited the ship. His ranger uniform was slightly scuffed from his earlier fight in the airlock, but he was no less poise. With a nod at her, they sped toward a nearby town, half a mile north of their landing site on the planet Mendu. After tangling with the slaver pirates, they had to divert for repairs to fix the ship's field generator. Tapri and Jonz were left behind to start repairing the damages while they contacted the local police and obtained an expert hand at repairing ships. She left SSR Kirin with the police and set off to a nearly docking bay.

She had been speaking to a human male attendant when she heard the faint crackle in her comm. She nearly dismissed it, but a gut feeling told her to check.

“This is Orn Taa, come in Tapri”

The comm stayed silent. Again, she repeated.

“Come in Ranger Tapri.”

Nothing. Brows furrowing, she commed Jonz.

“Report in Ranger Jonz."

Silence.

"Ranger Jonz?…Jonz, I need you to connect with Tapri. Jonz?!”

Nothing.

Cold apprehension filled her, and she quickly commed SSR Kirin. 

“Orn Taa,” came his deep voice.

“Sir, I’ve lost contact with Rangers Tapri and Jonz.”

“...”

“Sir?” she repeated.

“...Orn Taa," he said again. She heard a note in his voice she'd never heard before and a wave of fear crashed over her. 

_“Ask her where she is?”_ hissed another voice.

“Orn Taa. There are multiple hostiles. Do not—”

A growl and the comm shut with a click.

She stood there for a moment, frozen in fear and her heart racing. The attendant called for her attention several times. 

She looked at him, clear horror on her face. 

Then, she burst into a run. 

Weaving her way through the streets, she held the comm at her wrist to her lips once more yet received no response. At her peripheral, she spotted a figure; large and menacing. That was all she needed to hurriedly duck behind a vendor’s stall. 

A Trandoshan. Two.

Clearly trying to be inconspicuous and failing miserably. If the shape of the bulges at their sides wasn’t an indication of their profession, their appearances were. Mean and aggressive, they sent people scattering out of their way. 

As they approached the stall, their leering eyes passed over the area. 

She held her breath. 

After a hair-raising moment, she listened to the patter of their boots as they retreated. Breathing easier, she dashed the rest of the way to the police station. 

Officer Clich was the one to meet her outside. 

“Good, you’re here. Some interesting characters have been spotted in town,” he said.

Chest tight, she spoke in between her gasps for air. “It’s our pursuers! My unit—my unit’s made contact and they’ve been taken hostage...I couldn’t reach your patrol!”

The man frowned. “Neither could I, but three of my guys are headed there—”

She didn’t stay to hear the rest. Spotting Clich’s guys, she leaped into one of their police speeders and raced away. Her vision was blurring.

As she dodged through the trees, she whirred by a dead officer. Probably the patrol she tried to contact.

_Shit!_

_Shit!_

_Shit!_

Urging the speeder faster, she closed the distance to their ship’s landing site. The repetitious hum of engines rang, and she saw to her dismay their pursuers’ ship rising above the trees. The freighter rose higher and higher, and then sped away with a burst of fuel.

She could see her ship now.

The aging, chipping paint was familiar.

As were the scratches from the slaver’s magnetic clamp. 

The two bodies on the ground... _was that...blood?_

Somehow, she reaches them. What strength she found in her sudden feeble legs seeped away as her knees folded.

It was blood.

Warm, against her cold fingers.

What a sharp contrast, she wonders. She feels frigid against the warm body she held against her middle and she wonders why; why when the pungent tang of copper was warm and strangling her.

Her hands were cold even as they cradled the head.

In the distance, a line of police vessels approach.

She watches them detachedly through her tears. _Too late_ , she thinks, but they were a better sight.

She could watch them instead of the hole in Tapri’s neck.

* * *

Kirin came to a blur of legs and movement. He was hanging between two figures, his legs dragging behind him and his hands bound. They threw him onto his side; his cheek smacked onto the metal floor, pulling a cry of pain from his lips. It was cold and dim, and he saw them pull a man from the cell next to him. He blacked out.

And then he woke again.

It was hot, he shivered. It felt like he’d been nailed in the head with a hammer; a pounding migraine crippled him. He swallowed thickly to ease his parched throat. Fighting the lethargy, he tried to force himself into a sitting position and quaffed the urge to vomit.

Bleary eyes peered at his surroundings, seeing nothing familiar.

Another shivered racked his body. Why was it so hot?

He cursed.

_Drugs_.

He’s been drugged. His face was damp, and the chilling ventilation wasn’t helping.

His brain scattered, and he cursed again.

First a dog fight in outer space, and now he’s been kidnapped by slavers. This was bad. Worse than bad, it was a clusterfuck. There were empty cells around him and none of his crew was in them. He hadn’t been able to contact Jonz and Tapri before he was stunned. They probably got lucky. They might have been missed by the slavers and were still squatting, waiting for an SSR who wasn’t going to show up.

Or, he lamented, they were dead. He hoped that at least Orn Taa got away.

He’d so been careless. What was he thinking, not checking for trackers?! For stopping so long. Hiding in the forest wasn’t going to maintain their disguise for long anyway and no way had he told Sket what happened.

_Unless_ …unless one of the others did.

That thought was, for him, a hard pill to swallow. _Though it shouldn’t be_ , he thinks, disgusted. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d made friends with judas. Kirin, that is, the previous host, might have been with them three months but he’s only known them all of ten days. Breathing harshly, he pulled himself upright onto his ass and leaned against the wall of his cell.

_What did you do Kirin? Cheat someone out of a promotion, screw some sod’s wife?_

Someone wanted him badly. Bad enough to hire bounty hunters; bad enough to send slavers; bad enough to kill. And now they have him.

Mechanical doors slid open and his eyes snapped to look at his hosts. Two alien grunts entered, dragging an unconscious figure between them. They threw it in the cell next to him, but Kirin didn’t look at them. He focused on the third prisoner that came to stand in front of his cell. His gaze met the beady eyes of an Aqualish.

“R’member me,” it said leering at him. 

He did. He remembered the lazy crawl of the voice that swept through their ship, dropping threats.

He didn’t respond. 

The cell door swung open and Kirin tensed. He didn’t move as the Aqualish settled into a crouch in front of him. The two grunts watched in the background. If Kirin knew how Aqualish grinned, then he would say that's what the alien was doing now. The two tusks mounted over its mouth titled up and outward and the sides of its face stretched to form a macabre of a smile. 

It leaned forward until Kirin could smell the stench of its breath.

A barrel kissed his neck. 

"I never seen a Pantoran like you honey. What are you, really?” 

Kirin said nothing, merely piercing the alien with an impassioned stare. The Aqualish continued to grin and leaned closer. 

“Shy? You look too dangerous for that. You smell,” he inhaled, nostrils flaring. “Divine. All exotic-like. Alluring—”

He groaned gutturally. The barrel dipped lower trailing down Kirin’s chest.

“—like those babes on the starcluster cruises.”

The two grunts snorted.

“A cruise to the edge of the galaxy with Corellian wine in one hand—”

He imitated grasping things.

“—and a Twi’lek ass in the other. I could die happy just like that. Corellian wine, Twi’lek ass, and a Mirialan spreading the folds on her puss—”

“Who sent you?” Kirin said abruptly.

“Ohhh, so you can talk. Here I thought you were being all coy.” He tried to look lascivious. “Playing hard to get?”

Kirin huffed in response.

“How much am I worth?” he asked. The other alien laughed in return.

“Nothin’ you can afford; sides, I’ve already been half paid. I get the rest when I deliver you.”

Then, one of the grunts came forward. “Sawkee, we’re ready.”

At that, the Aqualish stood, exited the cell and the door swung back in place.

“Looks like you’ll get your answer soon honey.”

They left the room. He looked to the crumpled form in the cell next to him and found eyes peering back at him. The other, a human male who looked to be in his late twenties, was gaunt and pinched, like he was starved and beaten daily. He had a fierce scowl on his face that let Kirin know, despite the apparent weakness, he could snap his neck. Kirin decided to introduce himself.

“I’m Sector Ranger Kirin. And you?”

The man appraised him silently, then scoffed. “Tch, an outlaw by your standards.”

Kirin smiled thinly. “Then consider my standards skewed; we’re in the same boat after all.”

“Do you know where we are?” he asked.

A sneer pulled the presumed outlaw's lips when he spoke. 

"This is a spice freighter. Right about now, we're probably headed to the arena."

"Arena?"

"The fighting pits; these _shebs_ like to gamble," he growled. "I doubt you're fighting though."

"No? I'm a pretty good fighter," he replied. The outlaw smirked bleakly. 

"They don’t need more fighters; they have enough slaves for that. But you? It’s like Sawkee said—exotic. "

He said the word slowing and Kirin experienced a sense of foreboding. He clenched his jaw. It was worse than he thought. 

"Billions of sentients and I'm exotic?" 

"Looks like."

“I’ve never been a slave before.”

Outlaw said nothing to that, and Kirin fell silent.

If he had a gun, now would be a good time to shoot himself. Quick, point blank blaster shot to the temple. It would be preferable to whatever they had in mind for him. He didn't like the glint in the Aqualish's eyes.

The tender mercies of captivity weren’t foreign to him. He’s been beaten, tortured, waterboarded, and had cigarettes burned into his skin. But sexual slavery, that would be the worse violation. He found himself wanting to hope for the arena; fighting was his specialty and he knew he could win against some of these hardened species. 

Some hours later, their prisoners came for them. Outlaw was taken out of his cell before Kirin. He grunted as they forced him to his feet and was pushed after the other man. The blinding sun hurt his sensitive eyes and squeezed them tight until he could adjust. By the time he opened them, they were being led through an open market, to grim reality.

Everywhere he looked, chaos. An open-air desert market with living merchandise; a string of chained sentient slaves being whipped; stages with nude humans; little weepy children of varying species tossed in cages; masters dragging their properties; tables with arguing vendors of the worst kind; immoral characters casually killing. He couldn’t hide his horror; his captors pushed him onward several times.

_Jesus. What nightmare did he wake up to?!_ This was going to be his new reality. He’s been bought and paid for before he even woke up that first day.

Ahead, he could see The Pit; situated in the backdrop of the market, it was an enormous colosseum and even at their distance he could hear the hordes of screaming.

Screams for _blood_.

Chants for _death_.


End file.
